Stranded on the Coast of Quintana Roo
Travel Tales from the Land of the Maya #2
After our first night in the Yucatan, in Posada Amor, Jeff and I set off towards our first destination, Xel-Ha Ruins.
The road, still deserted, looked different in daylight. Surrounded by jungle vegetation, we were driving in a tunnel of green.
Eager to see my first ruin, I asked Jeff how long before getting to Xel-Ha. “Not long, but before getting there, we’ll stop somewhere special,” was the answer.
“Where?” I asked.
“You’ll see. You’ll love it.”
I already loved everything surrounding me. The thick jungle surrounding the narrow road was prettier in daylight. Occasional footpaths led into the thick of it. The road was still deserted, save for Maya men on bicycles now and then, turning off onto some of these paths into the jungle. I was imagining them biking to their milpa (cornfield), to work their land.
The sun was not too strong yet. A pleasant breeze carried the smells of the ocean and jungle surrounding us, as I was concentrating on watching for wildlife.
We turned off the road onto a sandy track towards the ocean. The morning fog close to the shore enveloped our surroundings. We pulled up to a palapa hut that seemed to house a beach restaurant. As we parked, an older local walked out of a small cement building. After greeting us, he set off to sweep the cement walkway leading to the beach restaurant.
We got out of the car and we both locked it. Out of reflex, not because we felt we needed to.
I was ready to go when I noticed Jeff look up with a strange, amused expression on his face. He held up the car key for me to see.
“It’s broken,” I stated the obvious, looking at it. “Where is the other half?”
“In the door,” he answered.
I started laughing.
“I didn’t know you were that strong,” I joked.
“Only in Mexico,” he said, a phrase we’ve used often since, but at the time I didn’t know how true it was.
“It looked very worn,” I said. “Oh, well, we won’t lock the car from now on,” I added.
“We won’t drive it, either,” Jeff said, “unless we get another key.”
That’s when I realized it was our only key. And, of course, we both locked the car for a change.
“Aren’t you proud of me for locking the car this time?” I asked, referring to my mishap of a time I forgot to do it.
The reason we waited a year for our honeymoon had to do with my negligence to lock a car door. During one of our first dates, we stopped for a walk along a river, in a deserted area, and I forgot to lock Jeff’s car - while leaving my purse with all my documents, including my passport and visa, inside. Yes, I know, I was in love, with only one thing on my mind. So, I couldn’t truly blame the thief. But the mishap taught me to always lock the car door. Except in this case, I wished I didn’t.
We were stranded on a sunny beach in the middle of nowhere. A perfect day in Paradise. Except that all our papers, money, snacks, water, hats, and sunscreen were inaccessible, locked in the car. But who needs any of those in Paradise?
We didn’t even get upset. After all, we could just call the rental agency, they would fix our dilemma, while we would wait on this perfect beach.
Except we were in Quintana Roo in 1995.
When we asked the restaurant owner who greeted us if we could use his phone, he looked at us like we had just landed there from outer space.
“No phone.”
“You don’t have a phone?” repeated Jeff, to make sure he understood him.
“No,” he shook his head.
“Where can we find one?”
“Playa del Carmen,” he said. “One hour drive,” he added.
He would’ve been happy to lend us his car to drive there, except he didn’t have one. Like most locals, he used a bicycle for transportation.
Jeff showed him the broken key and the locked car.
The restaurant owner pointed towards the beach. “There is a group of people who camped here overnight. Maybe they can help,” he said.
Separated from us by a stand of palm trees, we didn’t notice the campers until we got closer. They had a van and several tents set up around it on the beach.
When we approached them, I realized they spoke French. “Oh, great, I’ll need to talk to them, I thought.” I was fluent in French, in fact at that point I spoke it better than English, but I was extremely shy around strangers. While approaching them and trying to switch my brain to think in French, one of their friends emerged from the tent and everyone greeted him in English. American English. So, to my relief, it was Jeff who talked to them.
We found out they were heading back to Cancun after driving the van for a few weeks through the Yucatan, camping as they went, visiting beaches, cenotes, Maya ruins, and colonial towns.
“We’d take you guys back to the car rental company, but we need to figure out how. We are packed to the brim,” he said. “Wait until we pack up everything. In the meantime, care to join us for breakfast?”
We hang out with them while they packed up the van, talking about all the places they visited. After packing everything, it didn’t look like they could fit anything or anyone else, but somehow squeezed room for one person. There was no way they could make room for two.
I convinced Jeff that I should stay on the beach. After all, he had to speak to the rental company. We rented the car in his name.
I was happy to explore the beach. Even alone.
I walked into the restaurant and sat down at the mini-bar. The owner asked what he could get me, understanding that I would only be able to pay after we get the car open. I asked for mineral water, my go-to drink in the Yucatan.
Part of the reason I love being around the Maya has to do with them being quiet. I felt no pressure for small talk, and it wasn’t just about the language barrier. I knew enough Spanish for a few exchanges, but we didn’t feel the need to talk. It wasn’t the awkward silence where you’re trying to think of something to say, but a comfortable quiet, where you can just be, without expectations.
As I sat there, sipping my water, enjoying the slight breeze coming from the ocean, the noise of critters in the palapa top above, time seemed to slow.
Eventually, I felt the need to explore. I thanked the owner for the drink and company and walked out. The sun was hot and bright by then, but I noticed a partially shaded trail leading down the coast through a coconut grove.
Remembering Peissel’s walk along the coast as he described it in The Lost World of Quintana Roo, I felt I was following his footsteps as I set off on the coastal trail among a coconut plantation similar to what he wrote about.
When I noticed a narrow jungle path leading away from the beach, I followed it. I ended up at a cenote with crystal-clear water, the first cenote I saw on the coast. As far as I could tell, I shared the place with birds only. After spending some time enjoying the crystal-clear water surrounded by thick vegetation offering plenty of shade, I walked back to the main trail on the coast.
I noticed a shipwreck of an old Spanish galleon in the water, close to the shore, surprised that it would still be there after centuries.
After following the trail for about a mile, I saw my first iguana, laying across the path, blocking my way. I didn’t know what to expect, and since he looked at me, as if to say “Time to turn around,” I listened. By the time I got back to the restaurant, it would be about time for Jeff to get back anyway, I thought.
On the way back, I wasn’t all alone on the trail. Walking towards me on the narrow trail, I met a group of young Maya men carrying machetes. Bare, unsheathed, just swinging them in their hands.
It was the first time I saw machetes, open, uncovered, in real life, in someone’s hand. They are scary-looking tools. I knew the Maya used them to clear the jungle, but I’ve never seen one before. For a second, I remembered what I read about them being used during the Caste War. Suddenly, I was aware of being a young, white woman, alone on the beach, walking along the only trail so the meeting would be inevitable.
However, this was real life, and the young men didn’t look menacing at all. In fact, I felt safer walking towards them on the deserted trail than I would’ve felt in some Phoenix neighborhoods. I kept my imagination in check and didn’t run the other way. Not that it was any place to run.
“Buenas dias,” they greeted me as we got close enough. I answered the same, as we walked past each other, and continued on our own ways. If it surprised them to see a lone white woman on their beach, they didn’t show it.
I spent a short time on the beach, but soon I needed to get out of the sun. No hat, no sunscreen, no shade, and white skin that burns way too easily don’t mix well with a sunny beach.
Back under the palapa of the tiny restaurant, the owner greeted me like an old friend and put another bottle of mineral water in front of me. I sat a few minutes longer, enjoying his company, before we saw a car pull up.
An employee of the rental car company drove my husband back to the car, unlocked it and gave us a new key. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get the broken piece out of the door, neither could he offer us a different car. So, for the rest of our trip, we could not lock the driver's side door. Not that we ever felt the need to.
“Did you see the turtles?” was one of the things Jeff asked when he saw me.
“No, I didn’t,” I answered, though I saw an enclosure behind the restaurant.
Since I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t venture over a structure that could belong to someone. We walked over, but it was just an empty lot.
“Tortugas?” Jeff asked the restaurant owner, who came out and joined us.
Somehow we understood when he told us they didn’t disappear, we just visited in the wrong season.
By the time we left on that first day, I felt I knew the beach intimately and made a friend.
*Xcacel, the beach I spent a good part of my first day in Mexico on, is still free of development, thanks to the turtles. It is a turtle sanctuary, a modest entrance fee they charge there is considered a donation. The only beach accessible for locals for miles, it gets busy on weekends.
I’m enjoying your stories.
Glad it worked out. Good to have a quiet day on an isolated beach.